


Misadventures at Camp Rainbow

by fckyeahgallavich



Series: Requests/Prompts [4]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Summer Camp, Canon-Typical Behavior, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Hate to Love, M rating for later, M/M, No touchy until canon age, Slow Burn, Slurs, Summer Love, slow, timeline spans over multiple summers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-12
Updated: 2019-07-12
Packaged: 2020-04-11 10:44:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19108066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fckyeahgallavich/pseuds/fckyeahgallavich
Summary: Mickey is a hard-ass 14 year old delinquent trying to avoid juvie and 13 year old Ian is just wanting to enjoy his first time ever at summer camp. Being surrounded by a bunch of queer kids who look down on Mickey is sure to grate on his last nerve and Ian's passion for justice will surely have him butting in before things get ugly... But that's just going to make unwanted and unneeded tension.Won't it?Follow Ian and Mickey on their first ride through summer camp and how their relationship evolves from hatred to friendship to love over the next three summers.





	1. The Welcoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian and Mickey meet... and it is not love at first sight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Though I have started Ian and Mickey off at very young ages, I want everyone to know before continuing that they will not be sexually involved with each other or anyone else until they are of S1 canon age (I will not get them sexually involved with each other before they actually did in the show). I'm definitely not about writing early adolescent smut so please don't worry about me aging them both down.

This shitty excuse for community service was Mickey's last chance at avoiding juvie. Based on his three most recent arrests, the judge had decided Mickey had a particular problem with fags. And... Yeah, he didn't like prissy dudes but if the manliest of men missed their pay-off date, he'd fuck them up too. It just happened to be twinks who hated paying on time, so theirs were the asses he kicked the most.

His lawyer swung a pretty sweet deal: Mandatory anger management and 500 hours of community service. The judge liked it, swayed by the wise-guy's 'good kid caught in a sad and underprivileged environment' bullshit. 

It  _was_ a load of horseshit, but he wasn't going to fight to  _go_ to juvie just to save his pride. South side could be a shithole, he could admit that. But juvie was some place even  _he_ didn't want to visit.

The worst part about being assigned to a gay camp was that he wasn't going to be a camper... He'd be  _serving_ the little shits. He was the hired (free) help to pick up after the rich bitches having the time of their lives. Then take into account the number of sissies and faggots he'd be surrounded by and that compounded the frustration by double.

But he could do this. It was three weeks, 19 nights and 20 days of this and then he could go home, record (mostly) cleared.

His dad refused to get even ten miles within Camp  _Rainbow_   (UGH!), so here Mickey was--hiking the five miles from the closest bus stop he could find. The duffel bag dug into his shoulder and pulled his back into an unnatural alignment.

Cars passed without a single care in the world for what probably looked like a fellow camper hiking along the side of the road to his vacation. For each car that passed, Mickey felt himself developing a stronger and worse taste in his mouth for the pricks he was about to be working for.

But soon after that thought occurred to him, a silver sports car pulled up beside him, crawling along the pavement until Mickey stopped walking. The back window rolled down, revealing a perky redhead grinning kindly at him. His freckles consumed his face in a way Mickey had only ever seen in movies and his hair was so bright it really looked like a fire--also something he'd never seen in real life. The redhead's brows furrowed in concern and his smile dimmed at the silence.

"Yeah?" Mickey asked tentatively.

"Are you headed to Rainbow camp?" The kid asked. His voice was a lot deeper than Mickey had expected.

"Uhh... yeah. The last bus stop was back there." Mickey thought there was no way this kid could be offering a ride, and normally Mickey would never accept, but his duffel was really putting some major stress on his back and the heat was steadily intensifying.

"Need a lift?" The driver asked. Mickey shifted his eyes to the driver... who  _could not_ be this kid's dad. He looked barely even ten years older than  _him!_

"If it ain't any trouble," Mickey finally replied, feeling a bit hopeful and thankful for the help, to his irritation. The front passenger door opened and a tall brunette woman stepped out. Strutting to the back of the car, she opened the trunk.

"Not at all, kid!" She smiled warmly, accepting his duffel and closing the trunk with a secure snap. "No one should have to walk that distance in  _this_ heat!" She spoke so sweetly, and her Chicago accent was so thick and warm like the warmed honey his mom used to drizzle over her banana and pecan pancakes she made for him on his birthdays. It was weird feeling so comforted by a complete stranger, but here he was feeling the warmest and most secure he'd felt in... Well, it's been a while.

"Go ahead, make yerself comfortable by Ian! We'll be there in a coupla minutes." she smiled at him as she crossed to climb back in her seat. He followed her directions and slid into the space the redhead, Ian, had occupied.

"Have you ever been to camp before?" He asked as soon as the dark-haired driver set the car into gear.

"No," Mickey replied shortly. 

"Me neither. This is the first year we heard about it."

"And them waivin some o' the fees for us so Ian could go..." Fiona called from the front, her appreciation and excitement bubbling over. "Ugh, this place is  _bound_ to be nice!" He only needed to see her wavy hair shift up on her head to know how brightly the woman was smiling. How the actual fuck was she this fuckin perky? It wasn't natural.

But... from the beaming redhead beside him, he could tell the apple didn't fall far from the tree.

"The brochure said they had a coupla horses. I never got to ride one before but I always wanted to!" The redhead kept breezing, just further proving that sunshine, apparently, is genetic. Mickey barely contained his resentful glare. Yeah, he'd heard of those fuckin horses. And no doubt he'd be the one cleaning up  _after_ them every fucking day. "What activity are you excited for?" He asked. oblivious to Mickey's irritation. 

"I ain't a camper," Mickey replied shortly. Ian's brows shot to his hairline.

"Oh, shit... but you said--?"

"This is half of my community service," Mickey explained impatiently. This wasn't any of their business... and yet he wasn't ashamed of saying this... Actually, he suddenly wanted to fuck with these bursts of sunshine. Ian clenched his teeth and his head shifted lower in what appeared to be a sympathetic grimace. Mickey rolled his eyes, a dramatic 'UGH' at the back of his throat. "Save it, it ain't like this'd be my first choice for 'summer fun' anyway." Ian sank back in his seat awkwardly and the whole car plunged into tense silence. The tires crunching on the pavement seemed to reverberate and fill the car, compounding the awkwardness.

"So... Community service, huh?" The driver asked awkwardly, his pitch so high that it was only his lack of the Chicago accent that confirmed the speaker. Mickey didn't bother to confirm or deny, the prick heard him. "How'd you get that?" The woman slapped his arm.

"Jimmy, for Christ's sake!"

"I wailed on some kids for not payin up," Mickey blurted out, kind of wanting this cute little family to regret picking him up. No one should ever do him favors. The judge was wrong to give him this chance. He was going to fuck it up like he always fucked everything up in his life.

"Payin up?" The woman asked nervously.

"Yeah. Those tweakers always think they can get whatever they want because they think they're so cute." Out of the corner of his eye he saw Ian turn to face him. He met his fierce look. He'd thought the twink would be afraid... But he looked angry.

"You deal to gay kids and then beat them up when they can't pay?" The redhead asked, his voice dropped even lower, to an octave he'd never heard a fag reach before.

"You made that assumption on your own. And it ain't 'can't,' it's 'won't.'"

Ian's mouth dropped open, fire burning behind his eyes and an argument clearly on the tip of his tongue... But they had arrived and Mickey laughed silently to himself and opened the door. 

"Thanks for the lift," he called as he exited the car, slamming the door shut behind him. He heard the trunk pop open and grabbed his bag, ready to tread the rest of the way to the main office where he would meet his supervisor. He imagined that these people wanted this big bad thug to get as far away from their precious princess of a happy camper, imagined that they were discussing him right now to insist  _Ian_ keep away from  _that kid._ The idea amused him so much that the hand on his shoulder actually came as such a shock that he leapt half a foot in the air. And of course it had to be the same shoulder that was  _still_ smarting from carrying that duffel for a mile and a half.

"Jesus Christ!" Mickey swore as Ian called out "Hey!" They stared each other down for a beat, and in that moment Mickey actually felt the warm rush of adrenaline because the force in this kid's eyes... It was like he'd seen some shit and like he knew how to handle his own. Yeah... this kid grew up knowing how to fight.  _Not_ your stereotypical fag. He rotated his screaming shoulder as they stared each other down, and finally demanded, " _what?!"_

"Good job freakin out my sister, you prick!"

"Prick?" Mickey laughed, "Oh, you wound me."

"It's a fuckin joke that a judge placed you here," Ian scowled. Mickey shrugged because, frankly, he agreed. "I can see you think gay kids are weak or whatever, but I'm warnin you right now... fuck with  _any_ of us here and I'll fuck  _you_ up. I don't give a shit if I get sent home early and banned. You use your community service to try dealin to new people or to get out some of your bullshit aggression that you've got against us for whatever reason--"

"I already told you, you came to  _that_ conclusion on your own. I don't target fags--"

"We take enough homophobic bullshit at home. We come here to escape, we don't need  _you_ bringing your hatred here."

Mickey fell silent at that. These pansies didn't know the first thing about hatred. But whatever. He hadn't planned on fucking with anyone while he was here anyway, so it wasn't like his 'demand' wasn't going to be followed anyway. He just hated now that it could look like he was following this twink's warning when he had already planned on doing exactly what he wanted anyway.

"I'm here for community service. None o' you fuck with me and we'll be fine." Mickey's look darkened as he couldn't escape the feeling that he'd somehow accepted defeat or some shit when that was  _definitely_ not what was happening. Ian released a pent-up breath, allowing his puffed-up chest to deflate. He no longer looked like such a tough guy... Yet those green eyes still held the fiery promise of a fucked-up face if Mickey pressed his luck. It was amusing that this kid was so confident thattha could take him. Maybe because the redhead stood a good two inches taller than him. But what difference did that make when Mickey was  _used_ to fighting grown-ass adults at  _least_ five inches taller than him? 

Still, the kid's confidence and passion impressed Mickey enough that the redhead gained a bit of respect from him. But he wouldn't hesitate in taking his pansy ass out if it came to it. The more Ian's look softened, the more comfortable he grew, the more irritated Mickey became that he reassured him or some shit that he wouldn't do nothin. Fuck _that._ "But don't flatter yourself thinkin you scared me into makin this happen or whatever, because it wasn't you. I  _came_ here not wantin any trouble. The fact you prisses probably don't understand is that not all people who hustle are bad people. Most o' us are just tryin to make a livin like the rest. And when I don't get paid, what else am I supposed to do but come collect?" Ian opened his mouth but Mickey stuck a tattooed hand in front of him to stop him, "Tell your people that if they leave me alone, I'll leave them alone. Got it?" Ian's glare hardened back to his full extent, his focus switching to the hand in his face like he badly wanted to swat it away. The kid wasn't afraid of him for a second, and that was equally infuriating and exhilarating.

He turned on his heel and continued his trek to the main office. The kid gained a bit of his respect for his ability to stand up to him... But underneath it all, he was still a fuckin cocksucker. 

 //////

Ian watched the prick go and had never been more conflicted. He asked Jimmy to pull over because he had a feeling the kid walking on the side of the road on the way to Camp Rainbow needed a lift... But then hearing why he was here... Even though the kid was a fuckin asshole, there still seemed to be something he was holding back--Something that kept Ian from outright hating him.

He shook his head and exhaled his frustration sharply through his nose before turning around to rejoin his sister and her boyfriend.

"That is one fucked-up kid," Fiona muttered, reaching for Ian's bag in the trunk of the car.

"Yeah, well, I told him I ain't takin his bullshit so if he knows what's good for him he won't pull anything around  _me._ "

"Well, don't go getting yourself kicked out!" Jimmy interjected as Fiona exclaimed "good!" They exchanged surprised looks. Though why they were shocked was a mystery to Ian. Those two were funda-fucking-mentally different people, never on the same page. But Ian didn't mind Jimmy because so long as he was around, they always had fresh meat and milk to go around--no more scrounging in grocery store's dumpsters or trying to scam the dairy or meat delivery trucks. As nice as it was to have a North side guy in the house to help them out, it was also annoying how desperate Jimmy/Steve was to fit in with the Gallaghers and south side "culture" or whatever the fuck.

 In the end, they dropped the topic and Fiona beamed at where they were.

"So glad you get to go somewhere, finally!"

"Yeah, me too," Ian grinned back. She passed him the bag and reached out for a tight hug. "Can't promise I'll call--"

"No! Don't call! You make the  _most_ of camp, don't worry about us!" Fiona cried as she waved him around in her embrace. Ian smiled and backed away from his sister. Jimmy/Steve clapped Ian on the back and wished him a happy vacation.

 ////

The screen door clapping shut behind him actually startled Mickey a little as he entered the main office. At the sharp rattling, the main supervisor walked in, bronze skin visibly glistening with oily sunblock and wearing one of those tacky camp tie-dye shirts with shorts that were  _way_ too short for a dude. The deeply tanned cheeks wrinkled the corners of his eyes as the guy smiled generously in welcome. Mickey wasn't even given a choice about shaking the guy's hand or not; he simply stuck his hand forward and accepted Mickey's before he could dodge it, calling out "You must be Mikhailo!" Mickey glared at the forcibly shaking joined hands until the guy stopped... then he shifted that glare to the man's male-Barbie-doll-esque face.

He finally released Mickey's hand and his look sobered as he met Mickey's unamused look.

"It's Mickey," he finally corrected. The supervisor shook his head with an amused look... though what he could possibly find amusing right now, Mickey had no earthly idea.

"Right... Mickey, from the juvenile last chance program." He grinned brightly again... and it felt sarcastic after this less than luke-warm introduction. Mickey's eyes narrowed at the sarcasm and the word 'juvenile.' "I'm Brant, your supervisor, and I can already tell that this is going to be interesting." Mickey swallowed the defensive retort dancing on the tip of his tongue, and blinked the glare away. The guy leaned over the desk stretching in front of the door Brant had entered from in the back, and revealed a clipboard with a small stack of papers clamped to it.

"Every morning you'll come here for your checklist and you will initial and time each job. The advisors and other supervisors all know why you're here so if we have any reason to believe you are  _not_ doing your jobs we will override that hour." Mickey's stomach seized--that did  _not_ sound like a fair system. What if someone just decided they didn't like his face and docked him an hour just to be a prick? Or what if he got sick and had to run to the can and they decided he was lazing? Could that be held against him?

Fuck, he knew that community service wasn't going to be fun but... Fuck. Could the people in charge be vengeful if they wanted to be? He hadn't planned on fudging his numbers or slacking off... Just like in school, despite appearances, he always tried. Nothing was worth doing if it wasn't going to be done right. His instinct to be a resentful shit stiffened his muscles and switched a gear in his brain... an instinct he was going to have to fight these next few weeks.

Brant handed over the checklist so Mickey could review it.

**Serve breakfast**

**Wipe down mess hall**

**Pre-wash plates**

**Replace trash liners**

**Muck horse stalls**

**Clean and restock bathroom A**

**Clean and restock bathroom B**

**Clean and restock bathroom C**

**Clean showers 1-4**

**Clean showers 5-8**

**Check obstacle course for safety**

**Clear mess hall**

**Feed and secure horses**

**Put away archery equipment**

**Clear obstacle course**

**Serve dinner**

**Clean dishes**

**Replace trash liners**

**Check all automatic lights**

Mickey's eyes nearly burst out of his head.

"I'm doing  _all this_ by myself?!" Brant smirked.

"Some of it. You'll have some help with dishes and if we have any campers break any rules then they may take over cleaning and restocking one of the bathrooms or mucking the stalls, but for the most part... expect that it'll be you." Mickey's shoulders already ached in apprehension.

_Jesus Christ..._

"I have to clear away the obstacle course  _every day?!"_

Brant's eyes narrowed and he looked at the clipboard.

"Oh!" He laughed, "Not quite. You'll check the obstacle course for safety and 'close' the course every day by telling the campers to get to where they need to be. So you'll pull on the ropes and make sure they're secure, check for twigs or rocks that could hurt anyone... holes that need to be filled, things like that." Mickey breathed a sigh of relief. Ugh, that was still a lot of work but not  _nearly_ what it sounded like before. Brant leaned back against the desk and resumed explaining how Mickey's life would look here for the next few weeks, "You'll eat before or after the campers but you'll have to be quick about it because of all of the things you'll need to do throughout the day. You're expected to adhere to all of the same rules as the rest of the campers: No drugs, no fighting, no illicit activities, no harassment of campers or staff, no swimming without a lifeguard present, no misuse of camp property... Getting all this?" Mickey nodded, his cheeks flushing from the overwhelming conclusion that these next few weeks were going to  _suck._

"Yeah, it's just--"

"A lot? Yeah, well, sweetheart," Mickey's skin crawled with revulsion at the petname, "Community service isn't meant to be easy, now is it?" Mickey glared.

"Am I ever allowed a day off?" Mickey asked, trying to hide how hopeful he was for a 'yes.' Brant gave a face that said "yeah, why not?"

"You  _could_ , I mean, we're not heartless or anything, everyone deserves a day off... but the more time you take off... the less you have to log to the judge..." Okay.... this snotty shit was getting on Mickey's last goddamned nerve. He was about to clobber the guy... but he clenched his teeth instead and tried to ignore the smugness radiating off him. He laughed a little snort and continued, "Like I said, we're not heartless. You can join everyone for the campfire, join in those talks at the end of the night, and hell, the horse handler may even give you a free lesson if you do a good job at caring for her horses. You just have to make sure everything on that checklist gets done and it's documented correctly." Mickey really wasn't interested in any of those things... But come the end of the first week with no friends and straining himself... Who knows? He might have a different perspective on horse riding and singing kumbaya at the campfire with a bunch of fairies.

////

"Gallagher!" A cheery, deep voice finally called. The artificial-redheaded woman who was passing out bunk assignments gestured to the cabin with blue shutters and a matching porch and roof. Because this was  _rainbow_ camp, evidently that meant everything had to be  _rainbow_ themed. It was kinda lame, and yet Ian's heart beat rapidly in his chest and he could feel that pulse in his cheeks which were lifted high in a bright smile.

He followed her raised clipboard and eagerly bounded up the three blue steps to the blue cabin.

Guys were already mostly unpacked and he had the choice of one remaining top bunk or one remaining bottom bunk. Without any hesitation, he threw his bag onto the top bunk and raised himself, using the bunk below, to his bed. He sat Indian style against the wall and just absorbed the reality.

He was away from home for the first time, surrounded by fellow gay kids who just wanted to feel accepted... just like him!

A brown-haired kid, the kid on his bottom bunk, stood and smiled warmly at him.

"Hey, I'm Connor," the kid introduced, sticking a freckled hand forward. Ian accepted it with his own and shook.

"Ian."

The obvious eldest boy in the cabin made his way forward too.

"Zane, nice to meet you."

"Hey! Ian," Ian repeated eagerly. The guy was H.O.T. Hot. With thick but well-defined eyebrows to contrast against gorgeous yellow hair that Ian knew must be dyed but he accepted as real because it simply fit on him. He had a million mega-wat smile and oozed with self-confidence that Ian hoped one day to possess himself.

A dark kid thrust a hand forward next with an even prettier smile than Zane's... It was Colgate perfect.

"Blake," the kid introduced. Ian's heart stuttered a bit in his chest and he repeated his name one more time. Zane turned to face the only remaining camper sitting across from Ian on his adjacent top bunk. The boy looked scared, or at least shy. Probably his first time away from home too...

"That's Miguel," Blake murmured. "He don't talk much at first." Ian nodded in understanding. So... not new. Just shy.

"This is the first time I've seen you, red," Zane belted out. God, this guy talked loud. Good thing he had blue eyes to fuckin die for or else Ian'd be annoyed by his (lack of) volume control.

"Yeah, this is my first summer camp," Ian grinned. Connor patted a friendly hand on the wooden bunk frame and smiled in welcome.

"Blake and I are basically here for support to newer campers. A lot of us are veterans here and the administration wants y'all to adjust quickly and feel comfortable--so that's what we're here for." Ian nodded gracioiusly and shifted his bag over so he could start pulling his stuff out--his pillow from home, a sheet from home, sunscreen to reapply.

Seamlessly, the cabin sank into small-talk conversations that evolved into deeper conversations. The other guys all started bonding over TV shows and books.... things that Ian had no insight to. So Ian just listened and exchanged glances with Miguel.

It was weird feeling so  _normal,_ and he realized this was exactly what Zane and Blake were for. He never imagined that a  _good_ thing, something he was  _excited_ for could make him feel so strange... But he did and he really didn't know what to do except keep pressing on, keep looking for chances to chime in.

After all, he still had twenty days.

/// 

He walked by the six cabins that made up the rainbow part of Camp Rainbow, and was led to a small cabin on the edge of the lake.

"This is mine?" Mickey asked, amazed.

"Yeah, it's kinda far enough away from the campers so you won't be mistaken for one and closer to the activities so it'll be easier for you to get to them. It'll be a bit of a hike to the bathrooms and showers, sadly, but our past juvenile last chance workers always liked the privacy."

Yeah... They were probably getting high the whole fucking time... A plan Mickey would have made himself had he not been misled to believe that the supervisors here were going to search his shit.

So far, except for the threat of taking away his hours if he slacked, they all seemed to start out with a level of trust that had Mickey confused. All the way out by the lake... away from the campers and even farther from the administrators... no dog to sniff his shit and no demand to open his shit... 

Brant left him alone in his cabin to "get settled" and though the positioning of the cabin was meant for isolation and seclusion from the rest of the campers to make it clear that he was  _not_ a camper, he looked at it as his own personal bubble where he could kick back while he wasn't performing his tasks of indentured servitude.

The cabin was its natural brown from the wood it was built from and the porch was just large enough that he might actually be able to sit comfortably on it to smoke. 

He expected the clapping door behind him this time and, checking over his shoulder one more time to make sure he was truly alone, and sank his hand beneath the waistband of his jeans. When his fingers grazed the plastic he had tucked away this morning, he rolled his eyes skyward.  _Goddammit._

Pulling the baggie free from his pants, Mickey groaned in despair at the bent and broken joints settled at the bottom of the plastic. It must have been from when he sat in the car. He'd been so tired and desperate to get out of the sun that he'd totally forgotten about these and when he sat in the backseat he broke them!

"Fuuuuuck," he groaned aloud to himself. Sighing angrily, Mickey tucked the baggie under the horribly uncomfortable looking mattress and flung his duffel on top of it as well. He opened each drawer of the built-in dresser at the far left corner of the room, to find it empty. He turned back to face the bed across from him... No sheets or blanket.

The. Fuck?

No one had told him that he had to bring bedding! He only brought a pillow from home because it was the  _only_ pillow he could bear to sleep with!

He wanted to try to keep positive like his fucking anger management counselor kept talking to him about... but the heat in this cabin was already stifling, sweat matting his hair and making his shirt stick to his back and chest... his jeans even clinging to his ass and calves. Above was a ceiling light and fan, but really, what the fuck-all was that going to do? 

He rolled his eyes and flipped the switch by the front door to at least give it a try and the immediate relief from the fan turned out to be a fleeting relief as he quickly accustomed to the teeny breeze.

He glared at the tarp-like material of the mattress as though he could will a more comfortable material on top of it.

Good thing they had a laundry center... And good thing he had a lake to himself... 

Mickey grinned wickedly to himself and stripped out of his shirt and jeans, then snuck out to the lake to cool the fuck off before his first night of work began.


	2. First Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian's first night at camp and Mickey's first night at work.  
> Mick's secret is already out and Ian's already got some friends...

Okay, so maybe jumping into the lake right after getting here wasn’t the smartest thing Mickey had done. In his spiteful search for relief from the heat, Mickey had completely forgotten that he didn’t even have a towel to dry off with. 

Standing dripping on the porch, it dawned on him just how dumb of an idea it truly was, but he didn’t necessarily regret the decision. As the suffocating heat did it’s job at drying him off, he watched the water, transfixed by the patterns the silt and dirt made in the area he had occupied. The invisible currents teasing the dirt along felt significant in that moment, but Mickey wasn’t a sap or an academic and so pinned the thought as a fleeting observation so that he didn’t go on a mental tangent. They were annoying as they were unnecessary. 

The view _was_ hypnotizing, though, no arguing with that. He didn’t have random things like this to look at in Chicago where the only magnificent view he’d found in his fourteen years was the skyline at sunset. The opportunities he had to indulge in that sight were few, though, and so he still didn’t consider that on the same level as the swirls of water he was transfixed by now.

From between the staked wood beams of the porch, Mickey caught a bright-ass tie-dye tee-shirt headed his way. He groaned, tossing his head back, and scrambled to his feet.

_Shit._

He unzipped the duffle to rifle through for something dry to throw on, and he’d just barely buttoned a pair of jeans over his sopping wet boxers when the door gently creaked as Brant knocked on the door. He answered, bare-chested and scowl firmly fixed on his face.

“I see you’re making yourself at home,” Brant smirked.

“It’s hot as Satan’s ass-crack in here,” Mickey shot back, wiping his forehead and saturated hair as though he was wet from sweat rather than lake water. Brant narrowed his eyes and seemed to wrestle with the urge to lecture about language but not wanting to start off the summer with tension. Mickey just maintained eye contact until Brant broke it first. Satisfaction brought a smirk to his own mouth

“You shouldn’t be in here much during the day. The windows’ll give you a cross breeze that should be nice though!” He was so cheery about it… Why the fuck was he so cheery? The smirk shifted back into a scowl as that very heat once again smothered him in the stiff, dry denim. “Your team shirts are provided, here’s the first of many, I’m sure.” Brant offered a hideously colorful piece of fabric that he had pulled out of his back pocket--a shirt just like his own. Mickey grimaced as he accepted the tee-shirt, examining the tacky Camp Rainbow logo--the title of the camp was printed in white in place of the actual rainbow set over purple clouds--and not a flattering purple--and Mickey stared at it with revulsion. 

Pulling on the shirt, Mickey scowled up at Brant who smiled so cheerily, it was probably sarcastic.

Did he hate the design as much as he did? Or was he just tickled fuckin merry to see a “confirmed homophobe” wear something so fucking gay?

“Perfect!” his supervisor cheered. Turning on his heel, he marched out of Mickey’s cabin, likely expecting Mickey to follow… And to his great resentment, he did. But just as he was stepping out of the cabin, he rolled his eyes to himself as he remembered that fucking chart. It was going to be his responsibility to keep track of his time, no one else’s so if he didn’t time and sign everything as he did it, who the fuck knew what someone would say if he tried to guess at that shit. He snatched the stupid clipboard and slammed the wood door closed as hard as he could… but the door was thick as fuck so there was only a thud and the usual clang of the screen door, neither sound providing any satisfaction.

As they marched, he found “Camp Rainbow” flags all over the camp--mounted to trees, flying proudly over each of the rainbow cabins which had kids filing out in probably the most organized manner they would see all summer.

One of the kinder things he’d always heard about the gays was from his sister, Mandy, who vouched for their ‘impeccable style’--direct quote!--which Mickey now had to call bullshit on. She was the protector of numerous fags back home and in school, and the first thing he’d tell her when he sees her next is that she better quit that fuckin lying. Whoever made these _hideous_ tee-shirts and tacky flags needed to be _shot._ Anyone with half a braincell’s worth of knowledge about aesthetic would’ve kept it simple--A plain colored shirt and flag, since they were so anal (pun intented) about color coordinating everything, they _could_ , and the _clouds_ could be nice tie-dye pattern to bring in that stupid camp tradition that everyone knew about whether they’d been to camp or not, and, the logo in the center would start with red on the ends and work their way in so there was _actually_ something fuckin rainbow about the camp’s name. But of course, the fuckin faggots who designed these shirts just wanted them to be visible from fuckin _space_ and damn the eyes of everyone doomed to look at them.

Yeah, next time Mandy told him that bullshit lie about gays being _so_ fashionable, he’d throw that shirt, and any of their cousins that he was bound to take home, right in her face. _Fashion sense my ass._

Though Brant had said it would be a little hike to the bathrooms and showers, he realized as he walked by all three before getting to the mess hall that it wasn’t far enough… Was this camp counselor out of shape or what?

Instead of walking through the wide and open dining area, Brant kept walking to the back of the building where a bigass Ford pickup sat blocking the door to the rear. As Brant walked around the gargantuan vehicle, he turned back to face Mickey and announced, as he opened the door that the truck was pretty much strictly used to transport trash away from camp to avoid attracting any unwelcome creatures  and to transport supplies _he_ would need for his jobs.

“ _I_ get to drive this thing?” Mickey asked, not even trying to hide his excitement. Brant punched out a boisterous laugh as he ushered Mickey into the back of the building.

“That’s a good one, juvie!” Mickey’s cheeks flared at the nickname. 

…Maybe he shouldn’t have been so defensive about the name sweetheart.

“You tell the driver, usually myself, what you need for your job and they will get it for you.”

“What if I need something in the middle of what I’m doin? Do I have to hike back here?” Mickey’s mind was reeling as the logistics of the daily routine actually settled into his conscious thought. He really didn’t think there’d be so much involved in this… But this shit was getting overwhelming _so_ quickly!

"You'll have a walkie," Brant assured. Mickey nodded, but his nerves still started swirling like that water he'd watched that afternoon. Brant led him forward and there was a haze of dykes, fairies, chicks, and dudes trying to shake his hand in the kitchen area. Mickey didn't like  _touching._ He never had. So, yeah, maybe it was rude and it spread the message that he was a homophobic prick who didn't want to touch the queers, the actual truth was that he just didn't like touching, period. So as they pressed through the staff in the kitchens, he tried to keep his whole body to himself to convey that he just wasn't a toucher... but he could tell by the eyes of everyone he 'met' that they automatically assumed it was because they were gay. Leave it to them to take everything personal like that. 

Brant shoved an apron at his chest followed by a hairnet.

"Oh  _hell_ no!" Mickey Aleksandr Milkovich drew a goddamned  _line_ at hairnets. He was  _not_ some lunch lady! Brant turned to him, brows raised. He almost looked impressed, but that was only a slight glimmer in his eyes underneath the darkness of obligated authority. "Seriously, I need this to clean dishes?" Mickey corrected himself. Brant shook his head, face severe as he seemed to summon his patience.

" _Everyone_ in the kitchen needs a hairnet and you're not  _just_ on dishes. You're keeping the bar full and answering to any specific diet restriction questions--if someone needs a tofu or turkey burger, for example. If there's a shortage of chips or drinks, you'll be refilling those so that  _everyone_ can have some. Then as campers start finishing up you'll start collecting the first round of plates to get a head start on the dishes--you're welcome for that tip, by the way--" Oh yeah... Mickey felt fuckin  _blessed_ for his help. "If you've got any questions about your job, look at me, I'll be supervising the area to make sure everyone is getting along and watching out for any concerning incidents."

"Concerning incidents?"

"Not your job so don't worry about it."  _Ohhhh...._ Pansy man had some balls after all! Mickey ground his molars together to avoid mouthing off back to the snarky little prick. He watched Brant expectantly, waiting for him to finish the lecture, but when the supervisor raised his own brows in anticipation instead, Mickey sucked up all of his pride and slid the hairnet over his hair, still slightly clinging to his scalp from the water and sweat.

He could already hear the laughs... Kids who worked in the cafeteria for reduced price lunches got it good in those movies and he knew for a fact that he would be one of the biggest assholes to those kids if  _he_ saw a classmate in a hairnet.

Maybe he should have chanced juvie...

 

/////

After ,hanging out with all of the guys in his cabin, Ian was hopeful for some long-term friendships out of this trip. He had stayed mostly quiet, interjecting when Blake shared his love of ROTC, Ian seeing the perfect opportunity to announce that he'd signed up for it next year. Zane followed up with how sports was more than enough to instill discipline in  _him._ As Zane and Blake discussed (well, politely argued, really) the benefits of ROTC vs sports teams, Connor confided that  _he_ was "your garden variety 'sissy' gay." Ian's eyes burst open and he laughed uncomfortably as Connor shared his not-so-secret love of costume design and piano playing. Ian just continued to stare at this kid as though he were the most remarkable thing he'd seen all day because  _no one_ from the neighborhood would  _ever_ boldly (nevertheless  _proudly_ ) announce that they were a sissy, gay or not.

Thankfully, it appeared that Ian was going to get along with everyone in his cabin. Miguel still wasn't talking, but Zane promised that the kid would open up.

The mess hall had a fuck-ton of wooden picnic tables--the kind that you almost  _always_ walked away from with a splinter in your ass. They queued up behind the pink and orange cabins, signified by their superior campers in pink and orange shirts. The first two cabins must be the lesbian cabins since they were all girls. He noticed for the first time that Zane, Blake, and Miguel were all wearing blue tee-shirts with the camp's logo on it. It was plain, a HUGE difference from the staff members who all wore bright-ass tie-dye shirts with the same design on the front. Suddenly, a record scratched in Ian's brain as he developed a really,  _really_ good question.

"So... How are the cabins divided? And... How do we have a co-ed camp with everyone staying so close to each other?" Ian whispered in Blake's ear. His answering smile really was stunning, and his following laugh was teasing as though saying, "oh you sweet little newcomer." 

"It's not as though there's a huge risk of the guys and girls banging--at least not the majority of us--so keeping us separated isn't going to make any difference. Then stacking us in the cabins six to ten campers full, how close everything is, and the two dozen staff members roaming around leaves basically  _no_ spaces for privacy." Ian's eyes burst open again. So that made sense for the gay kids and lesbians because... he didn't know many people who would be completely comfortable fucking in a cabin full of people...

"But what about the bi kids?" Ian asked.

"What about 'em?" Blake asked, brows furrowing in offense.

"Oh! Oh shit!" Ian's heart raced in his chest as he frantically tried to figure out what to do to repair any damage he'd just done to his potential friendship. It was _way_ too soon to be pissing off his roommates! "I just meant... Some o' these kids is bi, right? So they might--"

Blake and Zane both burst into laughter. Ian stared in confusion at the older boys and didn't even realize the line was moving until Connor tapped his shoulder, prodding him forward.

"There's mandatory safe sex classes throughout the summer aimed at _everyone--_ gay, lesbian, bi and pan, trans... everyone! Then if kids are  _still_ gonna bang, they've got condoms and lube at the front office." Ian's brows rose in confusion at that.

"They _allow_ that?"

Zane and Blake looked at him like he was crazy, but quickly turned around to continue forward in the line.

"Technically no," Zane whispered (well, whispered for him), "but everyone is realistic around here. So even though we're sorta supervised and that is a deterrent, everyone here knows that sometimes it's just gonna happen--"

"Yeah, so they'd rather we be ready than have anyone going at it unprotected," Blake finished.

Well... Ian sure as fuck wasn't ready for that yet. He didn't even know what it was  _about_ guys that he found attractive... He just knew that the idea of vaginas and breasts repulsed rather than intrigued him and the few times he'd walked in on Lip watching porn he'd focused on the dick or the shoulders of the guy that the girl was clinging to, completely ignoring the breasts and anything about her. But just because  _he_ wasn't worried about hookups didn't mean no one else here was.

"So... how common is it?" 

"Hookups?" Zane asked, but in the other ear Ian heard Connor's scoffing "protected or unprotected?" Ian laughed a giant burst of air and gestured for Connor to repeat the jokes for the other guys while he grabbed his plate and turned to--

The homophobic kid? Ian's grin faltered until he recognized a hairnet containing the black spikes that had caught his attention on the side of the road earlier that afternoon. The recognition in the kid's face followed by the misery of awaiting the oncoming taunt just made laughing at him too irresistible to prevent--he bursted into more laughter and almost doubled over as he remembered the tough macho guy he'd met on the drive up, the guy with so much attitude and masculine confidence that Ian would have never guessed he'd lose it from a simple hairnet... But then, straight, homophobic confidence was always the most feeble.

Miguel arched a brow, eyes widened like he was watching a crazy person, at Ian as he turned away from the kid to try gathering himself.

"It wasn't  _that_ funny, man," Connor muttered beside him.

"No, it--" He met the kid's eyes and smirked. "I'll tell you in a second." His dark brows furrowed and his eyes followed them down the line--he could feel the weight of his eyes as he picked up his burger, selected a bag of chips, and grabbed a can of Coca-Cola.

As they meandered to a free table, Blake shared, "lunches are usually simple--sandwiches, chips, salad, soup on rainy days. But  _breakfast and dinner?"_ As they settled into a well-worn bench (no splinters for  _their_ asses!), Blake grunted in satisfaction, "Mmmm,mmmm,MMMM!" Ian grinned excitedly and sank his first bite into the burger.

"They  _try_ to be healthy--" Zane blurted through a mouthful of his own food.

" _And_ inclusive of all types of dietary preferences!" Blake said as he raised his own sandwich to his mouth.

"Yeah, but they know that most of us're fat-asses at heart!" He and Blake laughed heartily and the rest laughed along, Ian and Blake the only ones covering their mouths. Ian took his second bite as soon as his laughter settled, and of course Zane asked what had been so funny in the line as soon as he snapped his jaws shut. Ian covered his mouth, rolled his eyes, and laughed again. Miguel punched Zane's arm beside him.

"Damn! You're worse than a waiter!" Connor's eyes bursted out of his face at Miguel's first sentence but they all laughed as Zane nodded apologetically and Ian chewed frantically and gestured for everyone to lean in close. Hesitantly, all boys bowed their heads and chewed their food slowly as Ian finally swallowed his own and started explaining.

"Alright, that kid with the black hair over in the line--?" Everyone shifted to not-so-subtly peek at the very kid. "I don't know his name, but he's not a camper--not even a staff member. He's a homophobe working here over the summer for community service." All guys stopped eating, swallowing what was in their mouths to speak. As expected, Zane spoke first.

"A homophobe working at an  _all queer camp?!"_

"Are they fucking nuts?" Connor tacked on. Miguel even shook his head, brushed crumbs from his fingertips, and muttered, "that's fucked up." Blake, however, shrugged and replied confidently, "I dunno, guys. Maybe this experience'll humanize us to him! Make him better?" He glanced around the table, and when no one agreed he insisted, "maybe seeing us as normal  _people_ will make him confront his homophobia!"

Miguel snorted. "More like resent us more for having to clean up after us every day." Ian gestured to Miguel in agreement and the other guys just averted their eyes, unsure. Ian himself wasn't sure... The guy seemed pretty damn set in his view this afternoon... But as he traced the guy running from the buffet line to the kitchen and back Ian could clearly see that the guy was doing his best. He was actually trying...

"How do you know this, newbie?" Zane asked conversationally. Ian cracked open his chips before answering.

"I saw him walkin on the side of the road and we asked if he was goin to camp. He accepted a ride here and while we were drivin he told me he's here for pushing drugs to gay kids and then beating them up when they can't pay." Blake and Zane both shook their heads in disappointment.

"So, first they buy into the stereotype of crystal queens, then people like  _him_ create more and blames  _us_ for reaffirming the stereotype!" Blake snarled. Ian didn't quite follow, but the outrage was mutual.

"I already told him if he fucks with anyone here that I'll fuck him up," Ian assured. Zane placed his palm over Ian's fist resting beside his plate.

"Easy there, Red. You're not a lieutenant yet!" he laughed. Ian grinned and shrugged, but on the inside he grimaced. He sounded like his fuckin brother.

"I'm south side, I don't  _need_ ROTC to stand up to that fuckin punk," Ian announced. The guys' expressions were split between impressed and excited.

"Well, I say we fuck with him to get justice for the kids  _he_ fucked with!" Connor sneered darkly, a wicked grin creeping Ian out. Ian had never seen a kid with so many freckles look so intimidating... Though he knew he could realistically take the guy who was easily twenty pounds lighter and three inches shorter than him. Ian clapped him on the shoulder in solidarity but also argued that they definitely shouldn't because then Miguel's prediction would become especially true and he would resent gay people for sure. Connor visibly chewed on his cheek as he huffed a resentful breath.

"We treat him with consideration until he gives us reason not to," Blake announced so decidedly Ian was fully prepared to follow like he was a regular cabin boy on the blue-cabin ship. The weight of Blake's more-than-a-suggestion settled over their part of the table and as more campers joined them, everyone nodded solemnly, Miguel and Connor being the ones to take the longest to agree. 

A tie-dye shirt caught Ian's attention out of the corner of his eye and he realized that the kid had moved from keeping the buffet line full (because the queue was empty) and was now doing pre-cleaning work. Had he heard them?

Ah, who gave a shit if he did? What the fuck was he going to do? Wait--

The kid's back stiffened for a second, his hand outstretched to a girl who, with a broad smile, seemed to be... Well, she was talking but what was she saying? Oh... God... She reached out a cup... Was she... asking him for a refill? Ian bit down hard on his lip as he watched the kid actually look over to the corner of the mess hall where an administrator stood... and he nodded. The kid took the cup and, with a small stack of dirty dishes balanced on one him, he slid through the tables to go refill that girl's drink! 

As soon as the kid was back in the kitchen, Ian collapsed onto the table and laughed. From that big and bad attitude the guy'd gave him in the car, Ian could only  _imagine_ his face in that moment! Guar-an-teed  _gold!_

"So you never really said what made you laugh about this, Ian," Blake pointed out, cracking open his own chips, his plate otherwise clean. Damn, and he thought _he_ ate fast!

"Oh! It was just seeing him in a hairnet, to be honest. I really didn't expect to see him so soon, and _definitely_ didn't expect to see him that way!" Ian chuckled a little more, smug satisfaction keeping the smile on even as the kid returned to the table with the girl waiting for her drink. She smiled graciously, so apparently the kid did know how to be nice... Though he probably forgot that this was a _queer_ camp, so the chances that this particular girl would want to fuck him would be pretty small. His roommates didn't look quite as amused as he was. "Anyway," Ian coughed awkwardly, "I already told him that if he fucks with any of us that he'll be facin me, and now I see more than that, so... I don't think he's gonna be any trouble."

The kid was only four campers down from them, Ian suddenly realized, and he'd clearly heard him from the stiff set of his shoulders. They met eyes for a quick second, and the kid turned around and walked off. Shame actually coated Ian's heart and stomach. The kid was an asshole... but maybe he should give him a chance like Blake said. He grimaced to himself, drained his chip bag and Coke, and otherwise waited for the guys to finish their meals.

/////

Anger drove Mickey on through the humiliation as he picked up plates, fetched drink refills, and ran like a madman trying to keep the bar full--only to get snapped at by a veteran staff member for "creating more work for us!" Mickey had physically bit his tongue _and_ the inside of his cheek for that one to keep his smart remark to himself.

Hearing the ginger shit--what's his name? Evan?--spreading his business to the other fudge-packers hadn't so much angered him as... stung. It shouldn't have, but for some reason hearing people debating whether or not he _deserved_ to be treated with respect was a blow to his stomach. Anxiety had instantly bubbled because he knew that if they fucked with his job, he'd end up fucking _them_ up, and though he was sure of himself in a fight, he still didn't want to chance catching an additional assault charge to get him sent to juvie until his eighteenth birthday.

He felt Eric's eyes on him the rest of the meal until his group filed out to go to the bonfire, leaving him to pick up plates, chip bags, soda cans...

About halfway through the mess hall, Mickey stooped into a bench and glanced around, taking in the twenty or so more seats that he still had left to clear. Brant, sneering and smug, emerged from the kitchen door and shook his head at Mickey.

"Now, this pace will _never_ do, rookie!" Mickey glared up at him and jerked up from the table, palms slapping against the wood table top as he rose. A thought suddenly struck him and he marched over to the nearest garbage can--looking over his shoulder to check if Brant was about to forbid him from moving it...

But as he picked the trash liner out of the can, Brant nodded, grabbed the small stack of plates Mickey had already gathered, and strut back to the kitchen.

Mickey's brain shifted to autopilot as he dumped the contents of the plates into the trash back and stacked the last of the plates. Continuing on, Mickey suddenly thought of his mom always cooking and cleaning and her vain attempts to get Mandy to help. His sister was always more than happy to help when the mood struck, but she confided that she refused to help when asked because Mom was so traditional that she only asked her because she was a girl.

At the time Mickey'd rolled his eyes and shot back, 'how the fuck do you know what's traditional? She's Ukrainian, we're American!' He'd further shot down Mandy's observation that none of the brothers were ever asked to do anything, just Mandy. And it really took until now for him to realize she was right. "Mikhailo" as his mother _always_ called him, "should play and be boy! Boys play to grow big and strong!" After she would say this... Every. Fucking. Time he'd beam at his sister like a little shit.

Snapping on the green rubber gloves, Mickey thought of how much easier this shit would be if maybe he had handled dishes before. Even through the gloves his skin screamed against the steaming water.

"Whoa, whoa newbie!" Mickey whipped around, the plate he held sliding from his hand and crashing to the floor.

" _Fuck!"_ Mickey barked instinctually. "The fuck did you go scarin me for?"

"Didn't mean to scare you, _sweetie_ ," one of the cooks snapped back. This prick had been getting on his nerves all night. He was a prissy one, and feisty. And Mickey couldn't punch him in the face no matter how bitchy he got. " _I_ was just going to tell you not to snap those gloves on until the buffet is clear because those nasty flies are already searching for the last of those burgers." Mickey rolled his eyes and yanked off the gloves as he marched to take care of the food.

_I shoulda gone to juvie._

....

It took _two fucking hours_ to finish everything on the list for the night. The sassy cook, named Emmett he finally learned, ended up actually being helpful... and nice. Mickey had huffed through the process of clearing off the buffet, wrapping everything and putting it in the walk-in freezer, putting the remaining chips in the right place, handling ice-cold colas that would just... sweat all over the other cans that hadn't been put in the ice--gross... who knew how many hands had touched that ice and those cans? Anyway, by the time he got back to the massive sink, most of the dishes were already sprayed off and being loaded into the industrial size dish washers. Mickey had stopped in his tracks, staring at the brunette fairy warily. He'd just snapped the rubber of a fresh set of gloves and handed them out to him, waiting patiently as Mickey inched toward him and eventually took them.

The man didn't ask for his story... didn't bother him with his... They just finished their job in silence until the very end when the man wiped his forehead and let a whining sort of "phew" sound from his mouth.

"Good job, newbie! Just put new trash liners in, grab the old ones and toss them into the truck bed, then you'll just have to check the outdoor lights and you're off the hook!" He grinned so brightly, the gap-front teeth actually fucking glistening in the dim kitchen light, and Mickey couldn't help but slightly smile back. He was weirded out by the guy... but he was decent enough for helping him and shit. He breezed through the last of his work, timed everything on his list, and took off.

The bonfire was even easier to find than he would have thought. Sure, he'd been to some of the neighborhood bonfires--one had even been built out of weed...  _what a fire!_ But this was so different. It wasn't the tall sort of pyre-fire that he thought of at the word "bonfire" but the flame was strong, setting almost half of the camp in a golden light. Not having any idea where any of the outdoor lights were, he just assumed they were talking about the lights outside of the mess hall... check, the cabins... check, check, check, check, check, check... and other than that he couldn't figure.

Oh well, it was his first day. If the queers wanted him to do something more'n that they'd have to fuckin show him. Before he knew what he was doing, he had joined the campfire, standing behind a row of campers parked on giant logs circled around the fire. Some kids stood closer to the fire, arms outstretched with marshmallows stabbed through sticks, and some kids he realized were snacking on their own s'mores. Mickey had a sweet tooth like the rest of 'em, but this combination made no sense to him. From the smell of melting peeps and liquid chocolate, he wanted to find out... But damned if he was going to ask.

"Ah, Mickey good of you to join us!" Brant cheered from the other side of the fire. Mickey grimaced and turned to go to his cabin. "No, Mickey! You can stay!"

And be a part of the  _group?_ Fuck no.

"No, thanks," Mickey grumbled.

////

The kid's name was Mickey.

Wow... no wonder he felt insecure about his sexuality, Ian thought snottily to himself. He cringed a little at his own thought, knowing it was unnecessary. But what could he say? He didn't like the prick and the way he just  _marched_ _away_ after being invited to the group was just.... UGH! He rubbed him the wrong way. 

Before the interruption, Ian learned that there was one late arrival to their cabin, Gavin. He was another camp veteran which left Connor and Ian as the only camp newbies in their cabin. Ian didn't know if that was promising or a let-down. At the very least he would have some guys to look up to; guys who had long-since come into their sexuality, knew what they liked, what they wanted and probably had some advice to impart. But there was also something about hanging around a bunch of other newbies that would have been really satisfying too.

Oh well, it was what it was. 

He had expected a big ice-breaker sort of thing around the campfire, but Blake explained that there was no use in doing that because there were far, far too many kids here to know them all and ice-breakers might be intimidating as fuck for the more socially anxious kids. So, out of respect for anyone with social anxiety, the counselors decided to let the kids mill and get comfortable on their own terms. It looked like that was probably for the best, he realized as he looked around the campfire. Plenty of kids were outgoing and rearing to meet new people, but there were also those kids who stared into the flames or stared at their laps as though they would be on a phone if they had the chance to be.

So instead of any ice-breaker games Ian had mentally prepared for, Brant the head advisor wove through people, loudly starting conversations with random kids and jumping into conversing groups as though trying to inspire courage in the shy kids. As the fire started dwindling and kids started throwing their s'mores sticks into the flames, Brant stood on a giant stump about three paces outside of the log circle for that night's announcements.

"SO!" He boomed over the conversations. "WELCOME! To Camp Rainbow!" He fucking  _beamed_ at everyone, as though this was his life's mission, to be a camp counselor for queer kids and as though seeing everyone getting along was what he fucking lived for. "Our founder started this camp about six years ago and we have steadily recruited more and more campers resulting to our  _biggest camp yet_ at nearly  _sixty campers!"_ Applause felt necessary and so he clapped as a bunch of over-eager kids cheered through their lungs... That'd hurt in the morning.

"Tomorrow morning we will have white boards set up with each activity and you will sign up for a time slot so that everyone who wants the chance at an activity gets a chance. The only exceptions are with the art cabin and safe-sex lectures, both of those things  _everyone_ is free to drop in."

"Sex ed at  _camp?!"_ a kid screamed out. Brant smiled warmly in the vague direction of the outburst.

"That is absolutely right. Our founder sadly died of AIDS two years ago and his  _mandate_ while he developed our programs was to ensure that all queer kids who walk onto the campground leave knowing how to protect themselves and their partners. Used to, we would have these talks around the campfire, but that can be a bit of a downer so we want you to come and meet with a counselor at any time during your stay here so that he or she may answer your questions. We also have support groups for different people so that you may leave this camp, perhaps, with an additional support system for when you return home!" Ian's heart sank in his chest. Support system... Wow, that's right... Some kids need that. Frank didn't give a shit, Fiona was tickled and over the fucking moon and though Lip was an asshole about it, he knew that he didn't actually care. But some of these kids might be here because  _one_ family member was able to pull the wool over the rest of the family's eyes... Letting them think they were at soccer camp or some shit.

"Sign ups tomorrow will be for horseback riding time, lake time, kayaking and canoe time, obstacle course races--be mindful of the preliminaries for the tournament!--archery sign ups, and of course there's badminton, volleyball,  and various other sports. So think on what things you would like to do tomorrow and get ready to commence your summer of fun!"

At that, Brant simply stepped off his stump and stood to the side, beaming at everyone who, other than the experienced kids, waited for what he was going to say next. Blake, Zane, Gavin, and Miguel all stood, prompting Ian and Connor to do the same.

"Get ready!" Blake cheered sarcastically and all of the guys laughed, but Ian actually was excited.

"I don't even know where I'm going to start!" Ian announced once they were out of range from the rest of the kids working their way away from the fire.

"Me neither," Connor admitted excitedly.

"We pretty much spend the whole time at the obstacle course and lake," Zane shrugged, holding open their cabin door for his cabin-mates.

"Well, I want to try everything," Ian insisted. "Even the arts and crafts cabin!" Connor shrugged out of his shirt and seemed to consider something as he sat on the bottom bunk to remove his socks and shoes.

"Honestly... I might  _live_ in that cabin..." Connor finally said shyly.

"Do it! If that's where you wanna be!" Gavin encouraged, jumping onto the top bunk. Miguel opened his mouth to protest since he had previously claimed that bunk... but shut it, rolled his eyes, and plopped into the bottom bunk. Gavin ran his hand over his shaved hair and his mouth quirked awkwardly... showing that he definitely noticed, but wasn't going to do anything to change the arrangement. Ian narrowed his eyes at him, but said nothing as he climbed into his own bunk.

Horses... lake... canoe or kayak... archery...

The options were so broad, it was impossible to choose where he'd go first! With all of the guys settled into their beds, Blake asked Ian before turning out the light if he'd be able to get dressed for bed in the dark. Ian agreeably told him it was cool and settled into his bed fully clothed.

**Author's Note:**

> Don't forget to tip your fanfic writer! ;)  
> We accept kudos and constructive comments :)


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